Ascend or Fall
by Eluniver
Summary: As the war between mages and templars is expanding, heroes are needed to venture and seek out the truth to a myth, surrounding the first Archon of the Tevinter Imperium. Two new orders arise and challenge each other, and it's the heroes who have to overcome the odds. To what end? (An original story, set in Thades, containing old and new characters! Enjoy!)
1. Chapter 1 - Introductions

_Hey readers. I'm writing this note some time after I published my work, but I forgot. I hope that you like my story, and a big pardon for my mistakes, but I'm just entering the amazing world of freelance writing / fanfiction and I'll try my best to make this fun to read and follow. Please, whether you would like to express an opinion, or to throw some well deserved criticism my way - do so. I promise to read and take notes on anything you would suggest as I continue to update this story with more chapters! :)_

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The chains around his arms were too tight. The more he struggled to get himself free, the more the metal was sinking in, leaving long bloody trenches of cut flesh. But how could he resist trying, now that everything has gotten so much worse? The thought of surrendering to his captors was too shameful.

The monotone of the creaking wheels of the carriage he was locked in was maddening. The sharp sound of wood, scratching on the stone road was interrupted only by the short phrases exchanged by the knights, leading the prison carriage. Soon it became clear that they were near the end of the journey. The bustle of a large crowd was catching the ear of the young prisoner.

A city, perhaps? Or was this some large crowd passing by? He could not tell, because there were no windows, holes, or even small cracks, to help him determine his surroundings.

"Halt! You are approaching the outer garrison of Val Royeaux! State your business!" – shouted a clearly irritated person.

"_Orlesians_" – thought Stefan, and sighed – _"... So it begins._"

The man with the heavy orlesian accent started shouting orders to his fellow guardsmen. A dozen iron boots started hitting the ground, covering the bustle of the garrison completely.

The Templars stepped away as the guards started to search though the carriage they were escorting. All the bags were searched for stolen goods.

"There is no need-"

"There is all the need! You look like Templars, but do you know how many posers pass through here? How many smugglers, thieves and whores are trying to get inside the capitol?" – the orlesian commander cut off one of the Templars

"We are on official Chantry business and we have the documents to back this up! Tarry all you want, but the-"

"We are at war, messere – Suddenly a stone cold voice, heavy with accent, cut into the conversation. – Unless, the Holly Chantry forgot that. At war, with those, whose leash was entrusted to you! So, let's not make a scene. Let us do our work."

A slight moment of silence crept and took hold of the situation outside the carriage. The bustle, coming from afar was reaching this place once more.

"Yes s-s-sir!" – stuttered the other guard, his voice full of fear.

A moment of silence yet again, this time different that the last. Somehow young Stefan was aware of the strange effect this new man had on the knights escorting him. It was as though a shadow, surrounded in cold winds was passing through.

"And what do we have in here?" – suddenly his voice came, not from afar, like a while ago, but right from the direction of the closed wooden doors of the carriage.

The man had moved, yet no sound came from that. Stefan shuddered as the presence of the orlesian man could be felt. It was as though cold winter winds blew through the walls of the wooden prison and enveloped the young mage.

"A mage... From Ferelden... Sir!" – answered the scared Templar.

"A mage? A live one? Hmm... Quite intriguing" – the man started talking in a low tone, as though making remarks just to himself. – "And why would you taint our city with such filth? Or did the Chantry decide to have a bit of torture, pardon me, fun, with this mage? Is it a girl? Maybe a lustful lord has been bored of his love life of late and needs a new plaything?... Well?" – he raised his voice, not even moving from his place for a second.

Stefan could feel the cold gaze of the man, staring right towards the door.

"It's a man, s-sir. A-and no, he's not to be tortured, or given to a lord. He's-"

"Sorry sir Malwyn, but that's official Chantry business." – the first Templar cut off his talkative companion.

The presence faded away. The shadow at the door, this Malwyn, crept away. One of the Templars inhaled deeply, as though he was just about to leap into a pool of cold water.

"_Who the hell is that guy?_" – thought young Stefan.

"Very well. Commander, let them pass. If nothing else, we have the information. The Empress will be content to know that should something happen to someone by the hands of this mage, the Chantry will answer... to the Maker, of course!" – He added and disappeared, his presence completely vanishing from the outside. Or, at least the mage did not feel it anymore.

"Still, Templars or no, we still need to check out what is going on inside. Open the doors boys."

Keys rattled, the locks turned and the doors flew open as light blinded Stefan. The darkness of his temporary prison fled, as the space was violently intruded by the piercing light of the gurards' torches.

"Hahaha, look at the boy! Hahaha, scared senseless..." – remarked one of the guards.

"Don't intimidate him" – said one of Stefan's captors. – He's dangerous.

"Dangerous? This little boy? I doubt that! Look at him!" – the guard started laughing

"Let me see" – said another guard, making his way though, only to burst out laughing as well.

The light was painful to behold, after so many hours of darkness. The chains were attached to the floor, allowing little movement. The young mage stretched one hand, then both, to cover the light.

The laughter spread through all of the guards around the carriage. Voices were shouting insults, some were making bets on how quickly they can kill the prisoner, while others were telling each other about the misleading reputation of mages. "Let me see!" some shouted through their laughter. "Swat him on the head with the sword, see how he reacts!" –someone added.

"Stop!" – shouted the cold voice of Malwyn from afar.

"_Maybe he's still close by?_" – Stefan thought

All the commotion stopped as soon as the shadow had returned.

"You must not intimidate the mage men, he's dangerous!" – shouted the second Templar!

"You should listen to them, friends." – Stefan said, surprised how strong his own voice sounded, after the terrible trip he had.

"Or what? Do you think we can't handle you better than them robe knights?"

"Well they are a hundred skilled mage hunters... Oh wait, only two are left, my bad..." – Stefan added.

Silence fell around the carriage. Slowly Stefan heard receding steps, backing away from the wooden prison.

"Is... is that right? I swear, by Andrestes' pyre, if this little bastard is joking-"

"We were one hundred soldiers of the Chantry when we left for Ferelden. One died on the way, and the rest..."

Awes and gasps flew in the sky. Many more people responded, some that maybe just arrived, others belonging to the laughing figures in front of the open carriage. Swords were unsheathed, shields were raised and bow strings started cracking under the pressure of the bowmen.

"This boy is demanded by a much higher instance then you can imagine." – said a new voice, old and wise.

"Carahold? What are you doing here?" – Malwyn said, clearly irritated by the newcomer. Stefan was amazed, either the shadow man was not scared at all, or he has hiding it well – his voice had not changed.

"I'm here on Chantry orders, to accompany this young man and the two knights back to the-"

"They are on the Empresses' doorstep! This is my territory, and unless you have been living under a rock, let me inform you – the Chantry has no rights above the crown any longer, so stand down old man." – Malwyn stated, his voice now even colder and lower. Stefan could barely hear him.

"He is a mage, and by right..."

The two men started arguing. Many people were stopping around the carriage, not being able to pass forward.

"_So we are at the gates of Orlais' Capitol. Why have they brought me here?_" – Stefan started to wonder.

The two men were joined by the commander and two lieutenants, backing up Malwyn, while the two Templars and a Chantry sister joined the side of Carahold.

The argument was heading for a bad ending. Suddenly Stefan opened his eyes. He could see clearly. He blinked twice and focused on the doorway. No one was there.

The truth was that he did not kill any of the 99 Templars. He had hurt them, while defending himself, some were turned to stone, others to small rodents, but none were killed. And he could not thank the Dalish enough for their uncalled help. In the end, Stefan ran away, but a log he had jumped over led to a steep fall, leading the mage to a head bump and loss of consciousness. That's how he ended up in Templar hands.

Now, all the guards had gone to the side of the argument. By the reaction of the others he guessed that Carahold and Malwyn were people, who had the respect of the commoners and lowborn.

But this was not the time for thinking – he had to act! The trick to the anti-magic ward that the Templars had placed over the "prison on wheels" was a trinket of ancient Tevinter. A small idol, locked in place by a strap of leather. But the guards had removed that. At least Stefan did not feel constrained any longer.

He lifted the chains and they slid through his wrists, as though they belonged to a ghost. They fell into the mages' lap.

He stood up, stretching silently, yet some bones of his did sound like they were braking. His legs were sore, after the ride, but now he was free to make his move.

The mage crept to the edge of the carriage and peeked outside, from the cover of the slightly bent doors. No one was paying attention to the boy.

He jumped outside and looked around, then ran straight forward. From what he saw, a small forest was in front of him. He went inside. Soon he heard the frightened screams of the passers. Then Malwyn shouted something and metal boots started chasing the mage.

Stefan stopped and turned to face his pursuers. He raised his hands and stretched them forward, lighting a wall of fire that set some of the trees ablaze. Then he made a swooping move with one of his hands and the wind blew from behind his back, sending the sparks and heat right towards the now panting guards. They started receding back, cursing the mage.

Stefan turned and ran. He passed many trees. It felt like he had been running for quite a while, before he stepped on a road.

The mage was dressed in a torn robe that covered his torso – his sleeves were torn apart. He had leather pants, and ragged boots. His feet sore from the forest terrain.

Just as he was catching his breath he saw a small cavalry advancing from afar. He panicked a bit.

The men were coming at him, fully armored. This sight terrified the young mage – he had never seen Orlesian chevalier before! They wore heavy armor that reflected the light of the moon. And they had horses, – that was a great boon for them – they were going to reach him very soon.

He took a deep breath. Stefan started walking backwards. His hands started to sparkle. Lighting formations started to ripple around his wrists, connecting to his body. He was shining with his own light now!

He stretched his left hand – a tree before the chevalier fell down. They jumped over it. His right hand stretched forward – and hit one of the men. He was sent backwards, while his horse stood on two legs. A scream of pain escaped the man, as his fellow knights trampled him. Yet they kept advancing.

Stefan let his rage overtake him and started sending lightning after lightning, taking down trees and men, shattering rocks and scorching the earth.

The horses were many, as were their riders. They were nearly there. He had to escape.

The mage took a deep breath and let the lightning burst from him, sending a terrifying sound that shattered his immediate surroundings, scaring the horses. That was only a delay for the knights. As soon as their steeds settled down, they took towards him.

Stefan raised his hand with great effort - the weight of something heavy was expressed on his face. Then just as the knights reached him, he lowered his hand with a loud exhale, completing his spell.

The horses and the men fell to the ground, as did those that came after the first wave. The spell belonged to a mage, who studied the magic of the earth – the natural gravity of things. He taught himself how to manipulate the earths' pull and explained it to Stefan at the Circle Tower in Ferelden.

Now the boy had crushed his enemies, forcing them down. At a great cost though – the boy was exhausted. Such a spell was not a hard one, but he has had quite the night, and needed rest.

He turned and slowly descended into the forest, on the other side of the road. He was stumbling over the roots of the trees and the rocks, but he kept going on.

After a while he sat down to catch his breath. He dozed off, only to be awoken by the sound of a crushed twig. He opened his eyes and scanned the surrounding forest. He had walked quite a lot. The fires that were spreading from his wall and the lightning strikes were expanding. Horses could be heard in the distance, but as soon as the winds changed their course, silence fell again.

Another twig broke, followed by a hissing whisper. A slight verbal insult was let out by a young man.

Stefan waited a bit. His ears were able to hear the boots now – they were surrounding him slowly. Then the sound a glass, hitting against iron indicated that his phylactery was used.

"_Damn it..._" – Stefans said, as he made the first move.

He raised his hands and hit the ground with his fists. A Shockwave spread outward, knocking most of his pursuers. He stood up, but the lack of rest hit him in the head and he swayed left, almost stumbling over a big tree stump.

"Now!" – Shouted a familiar voice.

A dozen Templars ascended and attacked the mage. Stefan knew direct attacks wouldn't work. He grabbed hold of the stumps' sides. Dead roots had risen from the grass, wrapping around the men. Some were disarmed while others started hacking away at the trees' remains.

One of them – a knight without a helm attacked the mage. He had long gray hair that connected to his short beard.

Stefan raised his hand and sent a bolt of energy towards the only one left, despite his knowledge of Themplar defenses. It was over... He had fought valiantly, yet lost.

Now all that Stefan was hoping for was that the Chant of Light was right and that there was indeed a place to go after death. They wouldn't spare him, not after this escape.

The older invader raised his shield. The bolt crashed into it and dispersed. The Templar shouted and sent a wave of energy forward, rendering the magic of Stefan useless. The roots were dead again.

The man rushed forward and knocked the boy on the ground, forcing the breath from his lungs. Stefan lost all awareness.

"_Maker... Protect my loved ones..._"

...

- Come on, wake up! – A cry, then water crashed into him.

Stefan started coughing then inhaled as he felt chains around his ankles, wrists and neck. Cold water was dripping down his chest, causing him to shudder.

He took a deep breath. He was alive? Or was this the Makers' judgement?


	2. Chapter 2 - The Escape

**Chapter 2**

"Come on, wake up!" – A cry, then water crashed into him.

Stefan started coughing then inhaled as he felt chains around his ankles, wrists and neck. Cold water was dripping down his chest, causing him to shudder.

He took a deep breath. He was alive? Or was this the Makers' judgement?

"He's awake, let him breathe!" – sounded a female voice full of anger.

Stefan coughed again, then started inhaling and felt a sharp pain in his lungs.

"He can't even breathe properly, let alone do the job." – Said a familiar voice.

Stefan opened his eyes. Before him was a crowd of people. Some he knew, others he didn't.

The first thing he saw was a lot of Grand Clerics. One he knew – Grand Cleric Elemena, the leader of Denerims' Chantry. He knew her from her visit to the Circle Tower and was introduced to her by First Enchanter Irving.

The second person he recognized was Leliana – a skilled archer, who accompanied the Hero of Ferelden when he liberated the circle tower from Uldred's creatures. She looked concerned for Stefan, yet said nothing. He remembered how they, the company of heroes saved him from the demons, alongside Irving and the others.

Stefan saw the gray-bearded man, who knocked him unconscious. The two Templar survivors were there as well as other people. The rest he knew not, but all of them looked like Orlesian nobles.

"So, I understand this is the tracker you were looking for, your holiness?" – asked one of the Templar Knights, bowing low towards the most well-dressed Cleric.

"Indeed. Do not be frightened child" – said the old woman as she closed the distance between her and the bound boy – "The chains are only here because otherwise they would freak out" – She whispered close to his ear, motioning towards the Templars.

The old lady started walking back towards the tall wooden chair, resting behind a huge table in this dark room, lit only by a fireplace from the other side of the chamber.

"This is Her Holiness, the Devine Justinia V, closest to the Maker." – Started talking the old Templar, then turned towards the Devine with an annoyed look as he continued – "Who sent for you, even though I already cleared the pointlessness of these actions! Your holiness, I beg you, reconsider! My men have years of training behind their backs, yet somehow you want to send _him_?"

Stefan recognized the old Templar he had lost the fight to – that was Carahold, the one from the garrison.

Silence fell in the room, as the Templar realized he had raised his voice. He quickly walked back to his place and murmured an apology.

Stefan was puzzled. "_Why would they want me?_" – He thought.

"It is complicated." – answered the woman in armor next to Leliana.

After a bit of silence Stefan asked:

"You... You can read minds?"

Laughter burst from a couple of the nobles. It filled the room, but as soon as that laughter reached the unamused Devine Justinia, it fell silent.

"He can't even control his own mouth when thinking, yet we need him for this mad crusade?" – asked one of the well dressed nobles.

"It's been a long night and-" – Started talking the chained boy, but suddenly a Templar slapped him across the face, leaving a red stinging mark.

"There is no need for such behavior. Let the boy talk." – said one of the other Grand Clerics.

The Templar stepped away as soon as he heard that.

"Why have you brought me here?" – asked the shaking boy.

"As Casandra told you, I sent for you. The nature of our future business is a bit complicated to be laid out simply. You needn't worry. All will be clear in due time child. For now, all I ask is for you to stay and hear us out. No harm will come to you, you will have a place to stay, food and water. Magic, of course, is forbidden. These walls are enforced with Templar sigils that block it out. So don't try to fight child." – The Devine said, motioning for Leliana and Casandra to take Stefans' chains off him.

As soon as he felt free he fell to his knees, unable to comprehend what was going on. The two Templars picked him up and led him to a small room with a bed. The mage had no idea where he was and what was this place. He had never been to Val Royeaux, let alone the Chantry headquarters.

And why did they ask for him, he wondered. As though suddenly the world had gone crazy. Yes, the war hit the people hard. Mages roamed and burned down cities as did the Templars, now mostly separated from the Chantry.

Stefan fell down on his bed and immediately fell asleep, forgetting all that happened. His dreams were quiet. But they did not remain so for the whole night.

Stefan felt as though he was being watched. He had entered the Fade, as he had often done when dreaming. Being a mage let him have full awareness of his dreaming condition. He shaped his dreams often, but now it was different. Some presence was there and it was watching.

The Fade seemed foreign now, rather than the familiar place he often dreamed in. Soon he started having nightmares of his dead mage friends, he relived his capturing over and over, but saw only the pain. Then he plunged deep in the Fade and there he dreamt of a different situation. He was the scared knight that walked away from the carriage. Then he was the falling chevalier, being trampled. Then, the constrained Templar, bound by the dead roots. Fear, pain, helplessness. He felt all that take him further down.

A light of false hope emerged, as a beautiful lady stood in front of him, offering salvation, joy, happiness. All that he... Desired.

Suddenly Stefan awoke and stood up. He was sweating from this nightmare. A demon of Desire had him close. Did she succeed? Or had he escaped in time?

"How can you even tell if you are possessed?" he said to himself.

But as soon as he calmed down he remarked that the sounds of battle were still ringing. Was he still dreaming, or had something gone wrong?

He found a letter on his bed, bound by the seal of the Seekers of Truth. He broke the seal and started reading, while slowly sitting down on the bed. The letter was full with female writing, shedding light on the whole bizarre situation.

_"Stefan of Highever, mage of the broken circle of Ferelden,_

_ It has come to our attention that you posses a certain asset of skill, making you a mage with unique capabilities. In particular, your knowledge of maters with connection to the Fade, including ways to enter it, control it, fighting creatures that find refuge inside it, and ways to brave it in search of items and points of certain interest._

_ It is my lady's wish to employ your services willingly, but make no mistake, you will do this job, one way or another. I am simply offering you an easy way. Now as to the nature of this job: you are to set out on an adventure (how clichéd), yet it will not be a pleasant one. I, Cassandra Pentaghast, seeker of the Chantry am to help you in a few ways, but I have certain duties elsewhere, so it's up to you._

_ Details of the job will be laid out for you as you proceed to our next meeting point – Val Chevin up north. There I will complete all the details and give them to you, before I head out to Kirkwall._

_ Declining in not an option, unless you want death, of course. You will be escorted with a full guard squad to the city up north, so do not attempt anything. The Devine took a great risk by inducting you in this matter. Do not disappoint her._

_ (P.S. Leliana will be with the escort. She can kill a man in 3 seconds with her bow, when she is not prepared, but trust me, she will be!)"_

Stefan let the letter fall to the ground. He lowered his face in his palms and stood that way for a while. The thought of him, serving the Devine, was unsettling. He never liked the Chantry, or the idiots that preached it. Yet now he was at their mercy.

He was completely certain that he would have been dead after his attempt last night. But they spared him, and send him on a mission. How could they even trust him, he wondered.

The racket outside was growing and people were shouting something. Stefan stood up and went towards the door. He turned the handle and found it locked. He twisted a couple of times, but nothing happened.

"No use, you're locked inside boy. Don't try anything stupid now, it won't work. These doors are resting on iron hinges and have a silverite locking system. Nothing you do can open it." – Said one of the guards outside.

Stefan let go of the door knob and looked at the door. He closed his eyes and heard the screams of people. He shuddered. They were screams of pain.

"Is someone being tortured?" – asked the mage, now expressionless.

"What? No... What you're hearing is fighting. You mages are constantly trying to break into the city, but you know what? The Maker is on our side! That's why only death awaits your kind. So sit quietly and hear the outcome. It's always the same..."

The prisoner backed away from the door. He turned and headed to the window. It was closed glass with iron bars from the inside and outside. The glass was plain and it let the mage see through.

Stefan swiped the dust from it to get a clearer view. Just then he realized he was wearing new clothes. They had changed his rags with plain servant clothes. The white sleeve which he used to wipe the window was now dark gray. He tried to clean it, but nothing happened.

The dust in the rooms covered everything. Excluding the bed, it was clean.

Stefan sighed, then rested one hand on the iron bars above his head and placed his forehead on it. Then he stared into the distance.

It was full of flames and sparks, much like the night he tried to escape. The fires were a darker red though, a sign of blood magic being used. The sparks were a dark violet as well. Whoever those mages were, they weren't fooling around. The rage of their spells was enough to cause even the sturdiest warrior to shudder. Magic filled the air.

As far as the young man could see, he was inside a huge white castle, engraved with holy symbols. The tall walls of the surrounding bore remarks of the Dwarven stone masons.

Suddenly he saw light, not from the field, but from the other side. A huge shattering sound pierced the night as mages poured out of the newly opened hole. Templar alerts were sent and the bells started ringing.

The doors to his new prison flew open as Leliana entered and threw a cloak and a bag towards the boy.

"Get dressed, we are leaving now." – She said, with her sweet accent and motioned for the guards to go.

They went away.

"What is going on down there?" – Stefan asked as he was just changing into the new travelling clothes.

"The Dark Disciples have arrived. I can't explain who they are now. All you need to know is that the Magisters of the Tevinter Imperium pale in comparison to this new cult. Let's go" – she said and pulled the mage just as he was finished dressing. – "We'll get two horses from the stables and use them to the nearest garrison, there we'll take north."

Stefan was now running with this woman, who seemed to look even more beautiful now, than when they first met.

"Do you remember-" - Stefan started saying.

"The tower? I remember. The Hero of Ferelden, Morrigan, Whynne and I saved you and the others. I could not forget that day. You were the bravest young man I've ever seen."

Stefan smiled as he ran. That goofy grin disappeared as soon as they stepped behind the lines of defending Templars and saw the devastation that the mages had brought. Piles of burned and scarred bodies filled the space between the warring factions.

The young mage had never seen such robes, as the ones the Disciples were carrying – they were hooded and pitch black, carrying only one symbol – a red, broken sword, engraved with runes that seeped darkness. They were few, very few. Yet against them was a mass of Templar and twice as many dead ones.

"I know, they seem few, but trust me. They don't need numbers." – Leliana added as she pulled the now stopping Stefan.

The mage wanted to see the hooded figures better, but the beautiful rouge pulled him. They started running away.

Soon the streets of the white castle were filled with screams and shouted orders. The walls were scorched and the pearly white color was replaced with singed black marks.

Leliana stopped and pulled back the string of her bow. She ducked to the wall to the left as they were approaching the gate. Before them stood a small square and no Templars were in sight.

The female archer slowly proceeded with caution to the end of the wall and looked pass it. She motioned for Stefan to stop. Soon the air rippled, as a bolt of blue lightning shattered the side of the far wall. Luckily Leliana turned away quick enough.

"Apprentices. Easy enough, but be careful! I don't know what Cassandra told you, but hear me out" – she said as she grabbed the shoulder of the young man – "You are needed for a crucial job, and you are the best equipped to do this. We know you have some semblance of elven blood in you... And that you are a _somniari. _If I don't make it, you have to. Go to Cassandra and tell her that the Disciples are on the move!"

Another bolt crashed into the wall. Leliana motioned for the mage to run towards the horses. Stefan hesitated a bit but then made a complicated sign above his head. A faint blue glow surrounded him, giving him defense against weaker offensive spells. He bolted forward, passing through the square and into the stable.

Leliana started firing arrows towards the now confused mage apprentices, to cover the escaping Stefan. One arrow hit directly, another rendered the second mage unable to use his right hand. Two more remained. They fell back, tending to the wounded one.

Leliana dashed forward, seeing that she could escape now as well. Gracefully running, she reached the stables.

Three horses remained, but all of them were scared. They climbed two of them, and had a lot of trouble getting them to behave.

Once they did, they started walking outside slowly, trying not to make a sound, but the hooves of the steed were enough to alarm the enemy. Leliana made a "Shh!" sign and peeked outside from the saddle.

"Andrastes' blood! A Disciple, just what we needed." – She hissed and placed an arrow on her bow.

"Do we have another way out?" – asked Stefan with a concerned look on his face.

If the great rogue Leliana, who braved the circle tower of Ferelden and fought demons and abominations, is afraid of the mage outside, then the situation was dire.

"Maybe I can help? They're not used to having to fight mages! We could use this to our"-

"No Stefan! We can't. More are coming."

"Then we're trapped here?" – Stefan sounded quite desperate.

Leliana didn't answer. She just closed her eyes and listened, but couldn't hear the words of the enemy.

Then Stefan figured it out.

"How fast can you ride?" – He asked.

"Fast enough, but charging through is not an option!" – She said in a low tone, not even turning towards the boy.

"I can get us out of here, but they might follow." – As soon as he said that Leliana turned towards him. – "I can blast the wall apart and we can escape."

Leliana blinked twice before she spoke:

"Can you use magic here?" – She said.

"If they can, maybe I can. I think it's worth the shot."

Stefan had no idea how suddenly they can use magic inside the most well guarded Templar palace, but still he wanted to try.

He raised his hand, motioned it in a small circle and... The wall exploded, tearing the whole stable down. The third horse ran through, and soon it was followed by the impressed archer and the young mage.

The sun would soon rise, and they had a long journey to Val Chevin before them.


	3. Chapter 3 - Information

_Hey readers, I'm grateful that you take the time to read my fanfiction, and I know that it's a bit strange, compared to other ones, but bare with me. I hope that you like my writings and find them fun to read. Please, if you find it interesting or have some criticism to throw my way - leave a review. I'll try my best to make this enjoyable. Cheers :)_

* * *

As Leliana and Stefan were riding their steeds through Orlais' countryside, they saw the devastation that the war was inflicting. Burned and abandoned homesteads were now either crumbling or slowly burning down to ash. Some places only hinted that once, not long ago, structures were raised there.

In the morning light everything seemed calm, yet unrest nestled in the heart of the people, because often in the silence of peace, did the worst outbursts happen. Since the war had started, the people had evacuated to the major settlements, closest to their home. Some took for other lands, while others fled to the mountains to seek shelter.

"This space, between Val Royeaux and Val Chevin used to be the source of food for the city, along the meadows to the west." – said Leliana as they rode their horses slowly.

The exhausted steeds had carried them a long way and needed rest, just like their riders. Occasionally, one of them would stop and bite some grass, or drink a bit of water. But nothing save for sleep could fix their exhaustion.

"It used to be one of the most tranquil places to behold. Yet somehow, now it fills people with dread, as it has become a battlefield." – continued the rogue, now saddened by the facts that she, herself told young Stefan.

"It looks nice, but I miss Ferelden." – remarked Stefan

"I thought you were a circle mage?" – asked Leliana, looking at the man.

"I was... But not always." – he said, making a pause and inhaling deeply – "When I was a kid I used to run through the woods and fields. And nevertheless, the tower had windows. Most people think of Ferelden as some dirty backwater, but it's home for me, and now that the Blight is ended and the throne is secure..." – Stefan stopped talking, getting a bit nostalgic as he knew that he could not return.

The memory of the struggle at the tower – the battle that raged after Irvings' successor declared the circle free form the Chantry... It was a horrible fight. Most of Stefans' friends died.

" We are close. See that fortress, in the distance? That's Chevin Keep, home to a fierce soldier order. We'll meet the others there." – said Leliana, bringing Stefan to reality.

The young man snapped out of his trance and stared into the horizon. There, on a hill was Chevin Keep. It was surrounded by many small buildings and a tall stone wall. It looked like the den of a tyrant.

"Who is waiting for us at the keep? I know that the other seeker will be there, your friend Cassandra, but who else?" – asked the mage.

"I don't know either. I do now Cassandra and the other seekers will be there, as we are heading to Kirkwall after that... Hmm, I think that the Grand Clerics will be remaining in the capitol with the Devine, but I don't know about the Templars. Maybe some of them will join you. It remains to be seen."

Stefan thought about it for a moment. It was indeed a logical thing to send a Templar with him. He was a mage, and an enemy to the Chatnry now. Or maybe his service would free him.

_"Not likely"_ – he thought.

"What happened to the Devine?" – suddenly he said – "The mages were many and judging by the way you reacted, they are a force to be reckoned with."

Leliana chuckled as she looked over to the young man.

"It's sweet that you ask such things. But trust me, the Disciples, as tough as they are, will need to get much more power to take the Devine. Don't worry, I've been serving the Chantry since I left the company of the Hero of Ferelden. You would be surprised at just how often the keep has been assaulted."

"You're a bard. Maybe some day you'll write a song about just how impregnable the fortress of the Maker is." – Stefan said, smiling at Leliana.

Leliana burst out laughing with her sweet voice.

"Fortress of the... If I didn't know you, I'd say you are too young. I am sorry if my laughter insults you, but that did sound quite childish. But who knows? Maybe one day I will write a song like that."

Stefan wasn't offended in the least. He enjoyed the company of the smiling female archer.

As they approached the gates, it became clear that it was just as bad as the garrison before Orlais' capitol. Tents and carriages were circling the other walls, filling the immediate vicinity of the city-fortress with refugee camps.

"It's like the Blight all over again" – said Leliana.

The sadness of her voice fit the situation. As soon as the children saw the two travelers, they swarmed them and begged for coins or food.

Leliana was kind. She gave out all that she could spare. It left her with less than two sovereigns. Stefan had no money to give out. Or food, as they had fled too soon. It was far easier for them to feel the plight of the refugees, as they themselves had not eaten since the day before.

The captain of the garrison led them in, as soon as he saw the female bard and recognized her. They were led across the streets, now littered with people, seeking shelter.

The keep itself was huge to behold. From the distance it seemed smaller. Now, standing at its' base and looking up, it stretched towards the sky, and threatened to pierce it. Not as tall as the Circle tower, but still tall enough to take away the breath of the common people.

When they entered they were stripped of weapons and led inside, through what seemed like a maze of corridors. Up and down, with many turns and dead ends.

"It was constructed during the war with Ferelden." – said Leliana as she read the puzzled expression on Stefans' face. – "They say that the stonemasons who raised it knew all its' paths, but took their secrets to their graves. The ruling lords' family has ruled this castle since then, and yet secret passages turn out every day."

"It isn't that great, madam. You get lost in here, you can't survive the night." – one of the leading guards interrupted her.

Stefan found this interesting but somehow unrealistic. He was used to living in a tower full of magic and secrets. The keep looked like a maze, or a dungeon. He was not that impressed now, that he was inside.

"When the war was over, and Ferelden fell to its' knees, the sons and grandsons of the stonemasons demanded the money that the Empress promised them. She sent them here, to take their pay from the lord. When the ruling lord refused, they became angry. They walked away from the throne room, but were never seen leaving the building."

"When the nights are stormy you can hear the chilling howls of the spirits, wanting their treasure!" – added the guard.

Stefan burst into laughter, as he felt that the Vail was as strong as it can be. No spirits were present here, or near this place. But the guards didn't know that. The sudden laugh made the guards jump. They unsheathed their weapons and stood ready for battle.

Silence fell, as Stefan was trying to repress his laughter. Leliana started to chuckle.

"My companion is a mage, gentlemen. He can tell for certain, whether this place is truly haunted." – said the female archer, looking at the young man.

"That's right. I'm a mage as you know, and trust me - I feel no Fade spirits or demons."

The men settled down and led them to a grand hall. It was round and had four thick pillars that supported the high ceiling. The chamber was vast and it was illuminated only by a big bonfire in the center of it. The wall, opposite of the doors bore a huge painting of a knight in chevalier armor. Below it was a big throne, carved from old wood and bearing the crest of the ruling family.

The other walls were adorned with trophies from the war with Ferelden, other smaller paintings and maps of many regions. The space between the bonfire and the walls, was littered with tables of all shapes and sizes, piled with books, maps, weapons, food, drinks and the occasional musical instrument.

One big table, however was placed near the throne. Around it were the only people in the room.

"And here they are. Just like we planned!" – said a beautiful woman in blue silk, sitting on one side of the throne.

"Let's not waste time" – said Leliana and proceeded to the table, occupying the chair, opposite to the throne. – "The Disciples attacked again. We barely made it out of there. They are field training apprentices and are becoming a bit desperate."

Her words seemed to fall on deaf ears. No one reacted in the slightest.

"Then let me do the briefing." – said Cassandra Pentaghast, as she rose from her chair. – "The Chantry and a few of our benefactors, in this troubled time, need you to do one job for us. We know what you are, and we are willing to overlook your... nature, if you are to succeed, that is..." – Cassandra made a short pause, looking towards the crude old man, sitting on the tall throne, under the painting.

He nodded, signalling for Cassandra to continue.

"When the Magisters raised Arlathan to the ground, they sought out heaven. But to reach it, they needed more of the power that the dragons had given them. So the first Archon sought them out, found them and sipped from their power and wisdom. He then found the way into heaven, alongside the other Magisters. He hesitated to enter the Golden City, due to his new found wisdom, and was killed, thus taking the all the secrets he had found with him. The others had all the means and... well you know the Chant of Light, and what happened after that."-

Suddenly the lady in blue interrupted her:

"And that is the reason you are here. But if it was up to just me, I would have you tortured until you can't speak no more. But alas, my companions are... _convinced_ we are to trust your kind."

"We are not here to discuss this. Mages have their faults, or I'd be the first to strike this man down. But we need him. Just as we needed the Hero and the Champion." – suddenly one of the Templars broke in, and oddly enough, defended Stefan.

"Thank you, knight-commander Cullen. Before lady Estelyn interrupted me, I was getting to your part in this. You are to set out and find the secrets of the first Archon. You are to do this, before the Dark Disciples or the Order of the Scorching Sun. Not only that, but it is required of you to also destroy those secrets, so no other people can repeat the atrocities of the past."

The young mage was completely struck by what he had just heard. He didn't know how to respond to this "job". He opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word. He was just standing there, with an expressionless face.

"You are to leave immediately, after you've rested-"

"You... you want me to do what?" – Stefan interrupted her.

"You have been called to perform this task by the Devine Herself. We know the nature of your talents and just how well equipped you are, to brave the places of the past. And-"

"You are joking... right? Are you serious about this?" – Stefan started ranting, not believing what he had just heard.

A sigh escaped lady Estelyns' lips. All the people started talking at once: some of them were doubting the reputation of the boy, now that they have seen him, others were trying to explain the whole thing again, while the two seekers were in the midst of planning the place for Stefan to start looking.

Only the old lord was sitting on his throne, staring with his cold eyes at the man, as though he was reading him like an opened book. Stefan on the other hand was totally stupefied by the bizarre situation and the even crazier job, that he couldn't refuse.

"The boy is going. He might even have a chance at completing the task. He may seem unseasoned, but he possesses a certain stature. I don't like him, but I think the he'll do just fine."

Stefan was shocked to find that the man was talking was a heavy Ferelden accent, as it was so different than the orlesian he had heard from all the other nobles. He blinked twice and stared at the sitting old man.

Silence filled the air in the chamber. The only sounds were from the crackling wood in the bonfire. Cassandra started talking:

"I know it sounds like chasing a myth-"

"Because that's exactly what it is." – stated lady Estelyn

"If you open your mouth one more time, I swear, by the Maker..." – suddenly the old man snapped at the lady.

She settled down and let the seeker continue.

"...But in this chaotic age we live in, myths may be our only hope." – she finished talking, sitting down.

Cassandra placed her hand on a book right before her, with black leather binding and a silver sun. She seemed as though she was making more of a remark towards herself than to the stunned mage.

"Then let us prepare for Kirkwall. I need to return quite quickly, as things are dire there, now with this war. I'll accompany you and help as best as I can, but the Order needs me." – said Cullen, as he drank from his cup and proceeded to walk away.

"We are indeed honored to have housed a meeting with so many influential people, and we are grateful that you, young Cullen, didn't leave our side. The Chantry is blessed to have you." – the old lord said, though his words rang hollow – "I must attend to my duty at court now, so please, excuse me." – and with that he stood up and walked away from the chamber, with the lady in blue and a couple of servants.

Just as lady Estelyn was passing Stefan, she glanced at him with such disgust, that he thought that she would burn him alive, just with her gaze.

Cassandra and Cullen left to get ready.

Leliana approached the still standing mage and said:

"You'll accompany us with the ship. We'll drop you off at Jader. There you'll meet a contact of ours. Together, you'll follow these the instructions in a letter that we'll give you and start your search."

And with that Leliana left Stefan and walked away.

The young mage was stunned. He was standing still, not able to move.

_"What the hell is wrong with these people? The First Archon, Dragon gods, Heaven..."_ – he began processing the new information as he suddenly realized –_ "I don't know about this insane adventure, but one thing is for certain: If I'm to be dropped off at Jader..."_

Stefan smiled. He was going back to Ferelden.


	4. Chapter 4 - Love & Loss

A day passed, and off they went. All of them: Leliana, Cassandra and the other seekers, Cullen and Stefan, alongside a large crew of seasoned sailors. The ship was big enough to carry all of them, and still be able to ward off pirates, should they come across any.

Few words were exchanged as the seekers were busy preparing for the hunt they were about to embark on – the truth about Hawke, the Champion. Cullen had told them all he knew, but the only one, who could fill in the entire puzzle was a surface dwarf, by the name of Varric Tethras.

The Templars stuck to their own, not wanting to attract attention, which was good for Stefan. Oddly enough they avoided him, rather than watch his every move, as he was so accustomed to. The young mage was full of questions, but no one would answer him. Cassandra would always send him away, as she was too preoccupied with her work. Leliana seemed distant, somewhat lost, as though she was going through a huge crisis of her own. And Cullen... well, Stefan didn't ask him anything, lest they lock him away.

The weather was pleasant and let the ship sail smoothly. Soon they reached the shores of Ferelden, and after a couple of days, they stopped at Jader to restock their supplies and to drop off the young man.

Stefan packed everything that they gave him and rushed towards the shore. There, on the docks was a small group of people.

Most of them were sailors, now embarking in trade with the locals. A seeker of truth was there, a stranger to Stefan. He was talking with two people – a man and a female elf. The man had some presence, while the lady next to him looked like a Dalish keeper. Stefan knew this, for his grandfather was a keeper.

The two new people stopped talking and looked up at the young man atop the ship's deck. The man waved towards him, beckoning him to come forward.

"They're your guides. I've heard a lot about them – they're no strangers to fighting or trouble. They also accompanied the Hero of Ferelden, but on a different journey. I'll leave you to them." – remarked Leliana, suddenly appearing as though out of thin air. The bard approached Stefan.

She gently placed her palm on his chest, more like a lover, than a friend. He was taller than her, and as he stood in the way of the sun, covered her body in his shadow. Her beauty was undeniable. She smiled slightly and said:

"I wish you all the light of the Maker, Stefan. I feel as though one day I'll tell stories about you." – she dropped her gaze down to the floor and continued quietly – "I know it'll be tough, but try to have fun. And if you succeed-" She gazed up, right into his eyes –"I'll be sure to throw in a reward for you!"

"And what might that be?" – Asked Stefan, now taken away by her looks and her sweet accent.

"It's up to you actually!"- the rouge said, as she receded back.

"Perhaps... A kiss, from a beautiful lady?"

Stefan immediately bit his tongue. _"Stupid, stupid, stupid... Maker, I'm a total idiot..." – he began thinking._

Then her laughter broke the monotone of the conversation. Stefan looked up and saw Lelianas' sadness fade away.

When the laughter stopped, she said: "We have a deal, young mage."

Then she waved and went inside the ship.

Stefan stood there, with a goofy expression, grinning from one ear to the other. He was indeed acting like a small child, but he felt great that Leliana admired him, at least a bit.

Suddenly an angry female voice sounded from afar:

"Thorns! Is he going to stand there until death claims him?"

Stefan turned, only to confront the source of the shouts – the two new people.

"I think that he's taken away not by death, Velanna, but by love!" – smirked the man next to the angry woman.

"I could care less... Hey, _shem_, come over here!" –she shouted.

Stefan started walking slowly towards her. The moment she uttered the word _shem_, the man turned towards her with a judgmental look on his face.

"What? Oh come on... Sometimes I can't help it." – she folded her arms on her chest and stared at the man.

Though it looked like an argument, the mage could tell that the edges of their mouth were curved slightly up, as though the moment they see each other, they feel happy. The attitude of lovers.

"Um, good day. I'm Stefan, a mage of Ferelden."

As soon as the young man said that, many people turned and glared at him. Most were looks of disapproval or fear.

"Ok, how about next time you just wear a dagger around your neck with an inscription_: "Stab me"_? What part of the secrecy did you not get?" –Velanna started ranting – "I swear, each new shem's dumber than the last!"

"What this lovely lady is trying to say, "- the man stepped in – "is that you should keep those things to yourself."

Then the man extended his hand, and continued in a low tone: "My name is Nathaniel Howe."

Stefan shook the hand of the man and said: "Howe? As in..."

"As in a member of the traitor family to Ferelden. A friend of mine once made a strange comparison – we Howes are kind of like you mages – no one wants us anywhere."

"Um, ok." – Said plainly Stefan, not knowing how to respond to that.

"I'm amazed by how many words you use, Stefan." – started Velanna – "What else did they teach you in the Circle? Let me guess: sit, stay, bark, roll over... play dead?"

The rude attitude of Velanna was offending the young man. But he decided that if they are to travel together they shouldn't argue.

"Actually they teach us a lot of things: Arcane arts, Elemental offensive spells, Entropic ones too... Also Spirit magic, Creation magic and many other things, which I'm sure you know, just as much." – Said Stefan,

Velanna turned a bit green for a slight moment. Nathaniel stopped this from getting any worse:

"Let's go. We have a lot of miles to travel, and it's best we don't stay here out in the open like this."

The three took for the outskirts. Out in the woods, Velanna seemed calmer and more collected. Nathaniel and the elf maiden were obviously close, even though they thought they were hiding it.

Soon the day turned to night and they were forced to make camp.

They picked a nice secluded space, between some giant rocks from the tall Frostback mountains. They had trees to cover them from enemy eyes, and rocks to block out the winds of the mountain.

Stefan had no tent, like the other two had, so he was forced to sleep in the open. He laid his sleeping bag near the middle of the space.

"I'll look for wood for the fire." – Said the male archer, but Velanna cut him off: "No, you'll just break things. We need wood that has passed on. I don't want to defile this grove, the way shems do." – and with that she disappeared into the trees, her robes making her blend with the surrounding terrain.

"You look nice together and everything, but how do you stand her constant remarks?" –Asked Stefan

Nathaniel stared towards the direction Velanna had just gone to and said:

"Love. I doubt it can be explained further." –and with that he sat down on the grass and waited.

The two men didn't talk that much, but as soon as Velanna returned, Stefan decided to start a conversation. Little did he know, where it was going to take him.

The female elf was carrying old dead branches, long and twisted. She stacked the wood in the middle and went to collect rocks.

"Wait. Let me." –said Stefan and stood up.

He placed his hand above the pile of wood and small stones started rolling towards it. He formed a perfect circle of stone and then quickly raised his hand, which ignited the dead branches.

Nathaniel was impressed, but Velanna seemed stressed.

"You shouldn't use the gift like that. It's wrong to abuse your powers. What if we're attacked? You'll need that magic, and if you tire, It'll be the end of it... the end of _you_!"

There was a genuine concern in the maidens' voice.

"I know, I was always getting into trouble for doing things like this.s. But the truth is that I don't tire of spells. My magic doesn't end..."

There was great doubt on the face of Velanna. Just as she was about to go on a rant again, Stefan added:

"I don't know how to explain this... My body gets tired of magic, fighting and all the other things you get tired of. But my magic... It never seems to end. As though a part of the Beyond is in me."

Nathaniel had no idea about what was going on, but Velanna seemed like she had just been slapped.

"You... Impossible! A shem cannot be a dreamer!" – she suddenly exclaimed.

"Stranger things have happened. My grandfather was a keeper of a Dalish tribe, the last one to roam the Dales." – Stefan explained.

"What's a dreamer?" – asked the third listener.

"A powerful mage, who has one of the strongest connections to the Beyond, can travel there at will, can shape it, and yet be able to summon powers that few can control." – said the female elf.

"The Beyond? Is that like, the elvish word for the afterlife?" – Nathaniel threw in a question again.

"No, that is the word for the Fade, not the afterlife." – pointed out the young mage.

Velanna was smitten by this news. She had always thought that there can never be an elven blooded human, who can both live in shem cities and Dalish camps. Usually such people were outcast and had no power. But here, before her, was the living proof that she didn't know everything.

"This... This is unsettling. I hope that whatever you do with that power won't bring destruction. But... But what about demons?" – she asked.

"Oh, they haunt me, make no mistake. I can't even remember to have had one nights rest ever. And the worst part is that they prey on you _always_. When I enter the fade, I'm like a beacon to them." – Stefan sighed and sat down, staring into the fire as he continued –"It's always a struggle. If you close your mind for one second, you're bound to be possessed. And demons... they don't sleep."

Silence fell. The crackling of the dead branches was comforting, despite this talk of demons. The wind moaned, passing through the fire, tearing a few sparks and carrying them away into the open space, only to disappear.

"I had no idea. Forgive me, human." – finally Velanna broke the silence.

"There is no need for apologies. Besides, I'm used to taking such talk from people. That made me even more unpopular, even in the circle. The Senior enchanters treated me like a secret, best kept locked away in a dungeon. The teachers feared to teach me anything, as they were scared of what the consequence of a failure would be. The others hated me for the power that I wielded and for the fact that I've always had a better connection to the Fade, than any of them... I had a few friends, but they're all dead now."

Velanna's eyes watered as she turned away. This boy was a shem, yet shared such a familiar story with her. She had lost the only ones that understood her and were willing to be with her, despite what the rest of her clan thought. She too would have been alone, had she not found the Gray Wardens and ... Nathaniel.

Nathaniel moved close to Velanna and sat down next to her, putting one arm over her shoulders. She leaned on his chest, as she was grasping the amulet of her lost sister.

"We should eat and get some rest. A long day is before us."

The night passed on and the morning light washed over the valley they were in. The three companions awoke and took south, along the foot of the mountain. Not long after, they reached the gates of Orzimmar, the last Dwarven kingdom.

They stopped there. A group of people, bearing the Gray Warden crest, the Griffon, waited for the trio to arrive.

The warriors greeted the three companions and began talking with Velanna and Nathaniel. Soon Stefan learned that they were in fact Gray Wardens. They briefly retold their stories and how they travelled with the Hero of Ferelden.

As the sun was beginning to set, Velanna and Nathaniel went away for a bit. Stefan watched from afar, as the two embraced each other. They kissed, and then spoke a little. They were both quite sad. As they were returning they were holding hands.

Velanna spoke first:

"I am sorry, Stefan, for the harsh words that I have said. But the bitterness of elven kind will take quite a while to wash away. Thank you for showing me that the world is still full of surprises. I have to leave now. Travel safe and keep Nathaniel from trouble."- she smiled up at the man she was holding

"I'm sorry that you have to leave. Dareth shiral Velanna, and may Mythal shine wisdom down on you and guide you to safety." – responded Stefan, trying to sound as kind as possible while speaking in elvish.

Velanna was stunned to hear this from a human. But today she was determined not to snap back. On any other day she would have been offended and insulted... But not this day.

"Such a proper farewell, I've never heard before from a sh-... a human." – she said finally.

The two lovers embraced one last time. Velanna went off towards the group of wardens and stood for a second to wave one last time at the two men. Then she and the other soldiers descended into Orzimmar to brave the Deep roads.

The two men stood there for a while. The male archer could not separate his gaze from the doors to the Dwarven city. Stefan decided not to ask questions. But he planned to. He had to know where were they going. And why did suddenly Gray Wardens enter the picture.

Something told Nathaniel that, despite the assurances that Velanna gave him that she will return, something bad was about to happen. He had an incredibly painful feeling that he'll never see his beloved again.

As soon as the sharp winds blew and the sun was gone behind clouds, the male rogue stepped away.

"We must go. We'll freeze here, so let's get going."

There was pain in his voice. The mountain was cold, but not enough to kill them. What made the archer sad and unable to stand here any longer was the separation from his lover.

Stefan and Nathaniel made their way south. They soon passed Redclife and not far after that in the east they reached it – The Brecilian Forest. That vast space, filled with trees was enough to take the mages' breath away.

"Is... is this the place we were headed for?" – asked Stefan.

"Yes." – said plainly Nathaniel.

So they were to enter the one place that the Vail was at its thinnest.

_"Damn. This is not going to end well..."_ Stefan thought as they descended into the trees, which soon blocked out the sun's light with their huge branches and millions of leaves.


	5. Chapter 5 - Elf-Blooded

_Hey, sorry for not posting in a while, but I experienced a brief writer's block. I hope you are still interested in my work, and as always, I'm always excited to read replies/reviews and comments. :)_

* * *

As the two companions ventured in the vast forest, they were greeted by the strong winds that hail from deep within. The smell of ancient and strong trees filled the air. Leaves danced all around them as they pushed forward.

Nathaniel and Stefan had talked quite a lot since Velanna's departure. They had gotten close. Maybe, they were even friends now.

"So I hope you know where you are leading me? Don't you think that it's time you tell me where we are headed for?" – asked Stefan as the morning light was barely visible inside the dark forest.

"I guess it's indeed the time to tell you. But an answer for an answer! I'm leading you to the Dalish that roam this vast forest. And I was hoping that despite the secrecy, you can tell me what the Hell you're looking for in here?" – replied Nathaniel

"Great... I had a Dalish friend once. I hope the rest of them are not like that. And I have no idea what I'm supposed to accomplish here."

An awkward silence fell between the two. Both of the travelers were feeling quite bad, not just because of the unwelcoming ancient woodland, but because they felt tricked – none of them knew what they were doing.

"Well, I hope the elves shed some light on the subject. But tell me, what got you in this business with the Seekers and the Chantry? You are a mage after all, no offense!"

Stefan retold his capturing and told him as much as he could.

"Oh Maker... I can't believe they made you chase a shadow! For all we know, those myths of the Chantry may be just allegories!" – reacted Nathaniel, now confused by the tale.

Just as they were crossing a fast river, a few arrows flew in their direction. Some fell under the water,while one hit Nathaniel in the thigh and one scraped Stefans' cheek.

The mage raised his hand, and drew a strange pattern that lit a shield of energy, blocking the rest of the incoming arrows. Nathaniel fell back into the water, soaking his entire armor and spilling his arrows. The fast-running river carried away the ammunition of the archer and almost took away his grandfathers' bow.

Stefan closed the distance between himself and his new friend, and covered them both in protection.

"Stop Shemlen. You're not welcome here, these are no longer your Woods. Keeper Lanaya withdrew the pact between your kind and ours!"

"We just want to-"

"We don't care for your words. Turn away now, or we will kill you!"

The mage was holding out his right hand to keep the shield up, while his left hand was holding Nathaniel stable.

"_ARGH_!" – Nathaneil gasped – "The water's twisting the arrow. We need to get out of here now!"

"We tire of waiting. I give you ten seconds to back away, or we'll end your lives."

"Wait Salio, the tall Shem's a mage!" Suddenly many words were exchanged, all of which were in elvish. The two companions drew back from the water. Nathaniel was panting and grunting, as the arrow was sinking in his leg.

"We need to get this out" – Stefan whispered to his injured friend.

"Then do it. But make it fast." – replied the archer.

Stefan carefully let his wounded companion to the ground and grasped the shaft of the arrow. Nathaniel let a low hissing sound. In the mean time, the elves started arguing amongst each other.

Still keeping the shield up, the young mage braced himself and pulled the arrow as straight up as possible, careful not to twist, turn or brake the shaft.

"Andrastes' blood, that hurts real bad." – Nathaniel shouted.

Stefan pulled the arrow and took a look.

_"Damn it!"_ – he thought as the arrow tip was shaped like a metal saw.

The Dalish came down from the trees and surrounded the two newcomers. They seemed different to Stefan. He had received uncalled help from them the night of his first capturing. They had aimed to free one of theirs. The apprentice of their leader. But these looked different.

Their armor was better, their weapons – pure silverite. One of the elves stepped forward, and said:

"My name is Salio. I'm the captain of the outer guard. I want to know who are you."

"We are-" – started to answer Nathaniel, but the elf cut him off.

"Not you." – he snapped at the wounded man – "You! What's your name?"

Stefan hesitated a moment. He didn't know if these people were ill-intended, or were going to help them. The way Salio sounded, he guessed the second thing.

"I'm a mage in a forest, where the Vail is as thin as possible. If I were you, I'd keep away."

The moment he spoke that he saw fear in the eyes of the other elves. But not in the captains'. His eyes were as determined as before.

"Your threats ring a bit hollow. We're under the protection of Keeper Lanaya, shem."

Feeling a bit beaten, the mage stood up and faced his oppressor. Just for a second the elf trembled. The human was taller.

"My name is Stefan. I am a mage Somniari, of the broken Cirlce of Ferelden." – as the young man was talking, the others were staring and stepping away, but he kept on –"I am here on behalf of the Devine to seek information and answers to questions that are of utmost importance."

Silence fell. The tension was so intense that some of the elves ran away. Nathaniel was sweating – partly because of his injury and partly because of the situation.

"You have no right to even be on our territory, let alone demand anything from us, **Shem**!" – shouted back Salio.

His voice was full of fear this time. Not because of the mage, but because of the shame that had been cast on him as a captain. And the way he spoke "shem" – it was as if he was slowly cutting him in half with his voice.

"On the contrary, **elf**." – Stefan started again –" I have all the right. I am the grandson of Irion, Great Keeper of the Dales, and last keeper to lead a tribe there. I seek no respect, or followers. But give me one reason, why I should back away from my destination."

His words sounded throughout the surrounding forest, echoing like thunder. All the elves were far away now, watching from the cover of trees or rocks. Salion stood with his mouth open.

Stefan lowered his shield, his arm aching from the duration of the spell. Suddenly a female voice sounded from behind them:

"Stand down, all of you. Salion, return to your post, I will lead our guest."

The mage turned, only to face a charming young elven maiden.

"Excuse my clan, Stefan, grandson of Irion." – she said politely, extending her hand – "I believe we've never met, I am Keeper Lanaya."

Stefan shook her hand.

"My friend is injured. He needs help!"

"Oh, don't mind me. I'll just die here, unnoticed. But please, **_argh_**, continue chatting." – Nathaniel said, his voice heavy with pain and sarcasm.

"Lasha, Rela, take him to camp. Heal his wounds and send him away." – said Lanaya.

"Wait," – Stefan said – "Send him away? I need him."

"Your paths ran together, but no more. I know why you are here. I received a message about you."

"Then why did you station people, **_argh_**, to guard this, **_oh maker_**, path? – Nathaniel snapped at the elven woman

"My apologies, but my people face the same treatment as mages these days. I need to protect them first, then deal with the Chantry." – the keeper said plainly, with no compassion in her voice at all.

"He'll be ok, right?" – asked Stefan, pointing towards the wounded man.

"Yes, don't worry about him." – said Lanaya – "Say your goodbyes and follow me."

The mage stepped towards the person he had travelled with for the last two weeks.

"Thank you for everything, Nathaniel. I hope everything turns out well for you." – Stefan said, putting one arm on his firends' shoulder.

"Ah, don't mention it. No seriously, no word of this day. I have a reputation to uphold." – he said, and then made an expression of sharp pain. – "Damn. I need some of those arrows. They seem so effective. Anyway, may the Maker watch over you Stefan. I hope that whatever you find makes Thedas safer and more stable. Take care."

And with that the companions parted ways. Stefan watched as the elves carried the man away.

"Keeper, are you sure it's safe to be alone with him?" – asked Salion, bringing Stefan back to reality.

"Yes, now go. We have a bit of work to do." – Keeper Lanaya waved him off, as he joined his friends.

"Let's get straight to business." – said the elf, as both mages headed deep into the forest.

"The first Archon of Tevinter came here to seek out a way to locate every dragon in their pantheon, and the places they're buried in. He found these ruins, remnants of the city that spanned from here to Saheron. Inside he found the resting place of the old elders. He drew on these powers and made contact with a great demon of pride. It revealed to him an object of great worth – an Eluvian mirror. In exchange he gave it freedom and summoned it to Thedas. That demon vanished, taking with it the knowledge of old Arlathan. But I'm getting carried away." – said Lanaya, making a small pause.

"The Archon then braved the forests and found the mirror. The demon had tricked the ancient mage. It was inactive, it's power lost to time. The Magister got angry. He used his own blood to summon the demon back, took half its power to fix the mirror for one last job, and bound what was left of the demon inside of the mirror, so that it could remain there for all eternity – in the very object he used to earn his freedom. Using it, the Archon found the resting place of Dumat, the Eldest and strongest of the Old Gods."

Silence fell as both of them stepped in front of an old ruin in the very heart of the forest.

"So what, I need to find that mirror?" – finally asked Stefan, now getting a bit impatient.

"Unfortunately, no. That mirror was taken by another clan. By a certain apprentice, I shall not name."

The mage got angry:

"And how am I supposed to find the damn resting place of Dumat without it? That's the job, isn't it – to walk in the steps of the ancient Archon and prevent another intrusion in the Golden City, pardon, Black City?"

"Calm yourself. There is still a way. You were picked for this task, not because of your handsome features." – Lanaya said.

Stefan was stunned. This was the first time someone told him that and truly meant it. He got carried away, but the Keepers' voice brought him back:

"You humans and your blushing. Focus, Stefan. You were picked because of your connection to ancient Arlathan. You can walk the Fade, without lyrium, as you are a dreamer."

The elf came close to the boy and said:

"Use that advantage. Summon the elders and ask them for a way to find what you seek. I cannot help you any more that that. But be careful! There are others inside. The Vail is thin and the demons may not be the only ones that haunt these old halls. Salion said some people slipped pass their guard and ventured inside."

The darkness of night fell on both of the mages. The surrounding forest casts its shadows even further, concealing all but the glistening water streams and tall polished columns of the nearby ruins.

Suddenly a voice came from behind both of them:

"Sorry for disobeying your orders, Keeper. But I feel restless."

It was Salion, the captain from before. This time he was dressed in a thick leather armor, carrying a full quiver of arrows and his bow. Daggers were hooked around his waist.

Lanaya sighed, and said: - "Salion, since you are here, and obviously need action, why don't you keep the human company as he braves the ruins? You can keep him from the traps and show him the way."

The elf had a concerned expression on his face. But he nodded, and even added a slight smile.

"Escort him to Esh'Halioth, the grand crypt, far below the main chamber. And don't cause too much destruction. This place is crumbling as it is." – The keeper said.

"We won't have any trouble, as long as we don't run into those black hooded invaders."

Stefan froze still for a moment. His face must have given away his concern.

"Judging by that look, you've met them before. And that did not go well, I assume?" – The woman added, with her steady voice.

The mage remembered the night of his escape from Val Royeaux with Leliana. And more importantly – the horrific piles of burned Templar bodies.

"Yes." – He said plainly

The keeper arched her brow and asked:

"And is there something we should know?"

"Yes." – Stefan said again, and looked straight at the two standing figures, shifting his gaze from one to the other – "And they'll be quite the trouble."

The mage and the elf rogue said goodbye to the keeper, and waited for her to disappear in the distance among the trees.

The two men looked at each other. Stefan smiled politely, but Salion kept that concerned expression. They ventured inside the old dark ruins.

Stefan coughed at first, echoing throughout the halls.

Salion pushed the mage into the wall and covered _his_ mouth with his hand. He made a "Shh!" sign, much familiar to the one Leliana had made.

As the noise settled down, the elf stepped away. He looked angry, but spoke in a cold low tone:

"I shouldn't be surprised. Shemlen have never been good at anything, especially at sneaking around"

Stefan bit his tongue before he could reply. This was not a good time for an argument.

"We need light. I'll go back and find some-"

Salion was interrupted by the flames that came from the hands of the mage. They reached a pile of old dusty planks. They were set ablaze. The human took two, and handed one to the elf.

The rogue was stunned. The keepers never practiced magic openly, not even amongst their kin. The shield earlier did not affect him as much as this sudden burst of flame.

"Go on. I promise, they won't explode!" – Stefan said, waving the second burning plank at the elf.

He took it and blinked twice.

"We need to hurry. The chamber we're looking for is far below us, and we're bound to either find traps or those people that entered before us."

"They're called the Dark Disciples." – said Stefan as they took the left corridor.

"Why?" – asked the elf, now leading the way.

"Why what?" – asked Stefan, not understanding the question.

"Why did they choose to call themselves that way?"

The mage thought for a bit. _"Why indeed?"._

"I guess _"Disciples"_ comes from, well you know, followers. They are the followers of the first Archon. And "Dark"... well I think that's self explanatory enough. My guess is that they wanted a dramatic name, that'll strike fear." – finally he explained.

After a brief moment of silence, Salion said:

"Doesn't that make you one of them?"

The question caught the mage off guard. Did it indeed mean he was like them. Would he fight them, only to be branded one of them at the end and slaughtered like the rest of his dead friends, back at the tower?

These questions shook the young mage to the core.

"Come on" – Said Salion, waving to the boy, but his words were distant.

Now that he realized this, he changed his mind. The end of this quest, would be quite different, if he was to succeed. Quite different than anyone else could imagine.

Stefan made his mind. Then and there he chose a different path, that decided all that was to follow. He shook his head and looked determined.

"Let's go" – he said, and both he and the elf descended into the dungeons of the ruins.


	6. Chapter 6 - The Dark Disciples (Part 1)

_Lately I've been having some issues with my writing, and I've had little time to sit down and write. I'm sorry if it's been a while, and if the next chapter comes out in four or five days, but I'll write it as soon as possible. As always, thanks for taking the time and reading my work! Comments/criticism are appreciated! Cheers ;)_

* * *

The crumbling corridors seemed to go on forever. The two companions descended far deeper than Stefan had originally thought they would.

The walls were inscribed with elvish runes, half-crumbled, half-covered in moss. The floor was completely covered in debris. The architecture of these ruins was unlike any the mage had seen before – it housed plants and trees, despite the lack of sunlight or fresh air.

Soon the two reached a hall with a very high ceiling. Remnants of silk flags were piled around the walls. Old tables, barely standing, carved from old wood littered the place. Some even had old tomes, nearly destroyed from the passage of time.

The gate at the far end of the hall lay shattered and scorched.

"The other shems. Thorns... They shouldn't have been able to get here, let alone pass through the sealed gate!" – said Salion in a low, hissing tone.

"I don't doubt the defenses of the ancient elvhen, but trust me – they are big trouble." – Said Stefan.

"Oh – started the elf – So someone finally decided to start talking again?"

That was true. Stefan was devastated by the simple remark of the archer. It had changed him in a manner of seconds.

The deep thoughts that haunted him now rendered him speechless most of the time.

"Don't. We've got to think this through. There is no way we could face them head on – that would be suicide..."

"Your voice has changed shem. But yes, it is impossible to face them head on. These corridors for all their strength are crumbling. If they can open a way forward this easily, they might as well be able to bring the entire ruin down on our heads."

The mage crossed the chamber and carefully peeked downwards, past the broken gate. There were no guards. Then he turned back to examine the gate.

The pieces of this massive wooden door were indeed blasted away. They seemed to have resisted for quite a while.

Stefan looked up and saw scorch marks around the edges of the door – signs that they had trouble with it. But after the scene the night he escaped, he understood just how powerful they were.

"We should go." – Said Salion.

Stefan looked over and saw him standing near one of the walls. He seemed just as concerned as before, even more. His gaze was fixated on a mural, depicting some kind of warning.

"Let me guess. This is the part where you tell me of an ancient curse, inflicted on all who trespass these sacred-"

"No," – interrupted Salion – "There is no curse here. What I am worried about is the wrath of the ancient. These elves, the ones below are the high elders – priests of Mythal and Elgar'nan. Their spirits may still haunt this place."

"Ghosts? I don't think-" – but Stefan could not finish the sentence, as Salion got infuriated because of the other man:

"You may carry Irion's blood, but you're not one of the people, quickling!" – there was a fire in his eyes, a burning desire for vengeance – "Be respectful, our ancestors came here, so that they may sleep – not die! They have power. So let's just get a move on."

With that the elf bolted forwards, pushing the mage lost his footing from the sudden push and stumbled to the floor.

Suddenly, Salion found himself unable to move. As though the gods had grasped him by the throat.

"Release me Stefan!" – he barked back, his voice full of fear and desperation.

"I'm not doing anything!" – Stefan stood up and shouted back.

"That's right children, play time is over." – said a cruel female voice.

Suddenly a woman ascended from the darkness and stopped under the archway, where once a gate stood in defiance to any who would dare intrude in here.

She bore a black robe, adorned with one crimson dragon and many runes. She was a Disciple.

A cry of immense pain escaped the lips of the elf. A stream of blood burst from his left arm, gushing out. It fell splashing on the stone dusty floor, amidst the piles of burned wood.

Stefan saw the woman and recognized those patters that she wove – blood magic.

She had forced the blood from the elfs' arm out. And now she could use it.

The free man raised his arm and a bolt of frost darted forward, straight towards the woman.

She just laughed. She moved her hand and sent Salion sideways, positioning him between herself and Stefan. The bolt crashed straight in the elfs' back.

Salion felt unnaturally cold. It was as though he had fallen into a mountain river and the water had covered him. It was like a slow cold spear, making its way inside, nestling between his lungs.

"Oh, this is something. A mage? And judging by the way you handle yourself... I'd say a practitioner of quite the power. Tell me, who do you owe allegiance to?"

"Shut your mouth and free my friend" – Stefan lashed out and fell to his knees, striking the ground with his fist.

The woman shuddered and fell to one knee.

"Elemental and Primal schools. Nice, child. But dare to try that again and I'll shred this little friend of yours to tiny pieces."

Stefan couldn't let his friend be controlled by her. She was toying with him. He took a different approach this time. The mage raised his hand, drew a circle and then pointed towards the woman.

She froze still. Not for long, though. As soon as Stefan thought he had done something, she shrugged her shoulders and blinked a couple of times.

"I warned you"- was all she replied, as she revealed her hand.

She gently took Salions' left hand, and ripped a piece of his flesh away. She tried saying something, but all that filled the hall was screams of immense pain, mixed with elvish insults.

"Quiet." – the gold haired woman shouted, using a bit of the blood from the ground. The elf shut his mouth. The pain was obvious. Tears ran down his cheeks, as his blood was slowly leaving his body.

"Now then," – she said, turning towards the shaking young mage.

She smiled and waved the torn flesh. Then she threw it towards him.

"I'm a Disciple boy. My blood magic is ten times more potent than any school you have access to. So hear me out. Before this one over here" – she said pointing with her bloody fingers towards Salion – "runs out of blood, be a nice child and answer me: who do you owe allegiance to?"

Stefan wasn't listening to her anymore. The last thing he heard was "blood magic". It pained him to admit it, but the woman was right. He had more magic than her – he was a dreamer. But how could he defeat a blood mage, and an experienced one?

He had to make a choice, a dread choice: to battle as he is, and risk his companions death, or... or to even the powers. To use blood magic himself. The very thought made him shiver.

"See, I'm not attacking you – you are a mage, after all. You have a place in the bright future we are about to build. So answer me, or I will kill this man over here." – the voice of the woman brought Stefan back from his thoughts.

He looked over to the other two – the woman wasn't old, yet kept calling him a boy – just like everyone else. And Salion – his eyes were full of pain. They screamed for release, but also of certainty. He could almost hear the voice of the elf beckoning him to kill her and all the rest of the mages.

Just a second passed, before she reached to tear another piece from the man, but she didn't reach. She screamed. The woman looked over to the boy, but recognized him as a man now. He was standing there, stretching his cut hand, his blood dripping down.

Her arm twisted, she twitched and waved towards the mage, hurling a red ball of fire. It didn't reach him, as the boy ducked away. That was time enough for the Disciple to regain her control. She, however, lost her hold on Salion, who was now crawling behind a fallen statue.

Stefan was disgusted with himself. He had to save his new companion. But he had broken his own rule: Never give into blood magic, as it draws demons much more than any other form of magic. And this place bore signs of the thin Vail. It was reckless, and maybe a grave mistake. But he didn't have time to think this through.

"You little brat! I'll teach you what's blood magic!"- screamed the woman, now boiling the blood on the floor.

Just as Stefan rose from the ground, a bolt of deep purple lightning passed him overhead, smashing a column. It came crashing down and filled the air with a fog of dust.

The disciple sent out many bolts but none hit. Stefan crawled near the wall to his left and reached a place, where the dust had settled. He saw the woman – she was cut pretty bad, all the way up her right hand. Now she took her knife in her trembling right arm and proceeded to cut her left one.

The young man extended his hand – a clear shot. He drew on the Entropic magic school and forced his magic in her. Not just one spell though – Weakness, to render her hands useless. Blindness – to block the sight of the witch. And finally: Horror, to prevent her mind from focusing.

The gold-haired woman fell to her knees and screamed, her mind full of horrific visions. Her bleeding arms lay senseless around her.

Stefan closed the distance, concentrating to keep his spells intact and watching for any movement that might threaten him.

"I told you to let him go. Now who's the child, woman?" – Stefan said, panting from his own wound, that he himself had inflicted.

"I... I may perish, Stefan, but I've done my job – you tasted the power of the blood.-"

"What?" – The mage interrupted her – "What do you mean by the power of blood?"

The woman was shaking, powerless, form all the curses placed on her. However, there was an unmistakable triumph in her voice:

"I knew who you were. I seeded doubt in you, and that is victory enough. And it's not over yet – you have yet to meet our leaders. They will change your mind completely, or they will kill you."

She screamed and started twitching, her voice full of horror. Stefan lowered the intensity of the spell, and asked:

"How the hell do you know who I am?"

No answer, just moans of pain, mixed with mumbling. Stefan removed the curses all together, and grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. He shouted:

"How the hell do you know who I am?!"

The woman focused her gaze on the man. There was no longer fear in her, just a deep satisfaction. She opened her mouth, but before any words can escape her lips, an arrow nestled itself in the middle of her forehead. The Disciple exhaled, her body dropped lifeless, with blood gushing everywhere.

Stefan turned towards the now settled dusty debris and saw the bleeding elf, shaking from the pain. He had placed an arrow on his bow. It was not pointed at the woman – it was aimed for the mage.

"Salion, you need healing- "

"Shut your mouth!" – the archer said, as he pulled the string of the bow.

The crackling of the string was deafening, as it echoed in the now completely silent hall. The two men were facing each other but not as companions anymore. The pain in the elfs' eyes was clear as day, but there was something else. The experience he had just received had changed his mind.

Stefan couldn't react, he just stood there. Suddenly Salion spoke:

"The Keeper trusted you, shem. How could you use blood magic?"

"I think that the words you are looking for are: Thank you. Trust me when I say, I'm no blood mage, but I had to do it. Otherwise, you would still be in her grip" – Stefan pointed at the dead mage – "and you would still be in pain."

"That does not excuse the filthy actions that you took! I was willing to die, but I will not brave the old places with an abomination like you!"

Silence fell again. Salion could not hold the bow anymore, his arm gushing blood at a horrific rate. He grunted, as he dropped the ranged weapon and fell to his knees, one hand over the other. His skin was pale white, as he had lost a great deal of blood. His eyes could not focus anymore. He was dying.

Stefan closed the distance, knelt down and placed his hand on the elfs' chest. The elf used all his power to struggle, but could not overpower the mage. Suddenly the wounded archer felt relief, as though a cool stream of water washed away the pain.

The mage was not very good with healing. He had to learn it since the destruction of the tower and the Circle, but he never had time to practice, or perfect it!

He closed the wound as much as he could. Then he cut a piece of his robe and wrapped it above the opened flesh. He tied it as much as he can, and he said, to the now panting elf:

"I'm sorry that you experienced that. I'm sorry for the way things turned out. I healed your wound as much as I can, but this is beyond me. Stay here, and be quiet, I'll be back, I promise!"

There was no answer, just a nod. Stefan got up and used a bit of healing on his own wound. Thankfully it was not deep, or as wide as Salions'. He crossed the archway and descended into the dark.

It felt as though he had walked for hours, before he reached the end of the tunnel – another hall. There was a big fire in the chamber, beyond that hall.

The hall was with a high ceiling and had a small water pond in the middle. The mage crept to the right side of the opened doors and peeked inside.

The next chamber was breathtakingly huge! The walls were adorned with symbols and carvings, depicting many strange things. The room, as far as the mage could tell, was a burial hall. The coffins, made from stone, were either laid out around the centre, or next tot the walls. In the middle of the room, there was a huge tree, its top concealed in darkness, as it was too tall for the flames to reveal. Its roots were very hard to distinguish, as water surrounded them.

The flames that lit the room were coming from the far side of the burial chamber. It was a huge red flame, magically conjured, no doubt. The silence of the room was broken only by the monotone chanting of people.

"The rest of the Disciples." – Stefan thought, as he listened in.

The words of the mages were echoing, and it was hard to determine how many they were. Stefan counted four different voices. He braced himself, stood up and stood in the archway. The shadows were hiding him well enough, but he had to get closer.

Of all the halls and corridors he had crossed, this place was the worst – the Vail was nearly torn. The mage could even hear the whispers of the demons from the other side. He was a dreamer, and thus he was like a beacon for them.

Stefan understood that this was indeed the place where he had to contact the elders. He walked onward, slowly approaching the light.

"... Dumat, Andoral, Lusacan, Razikale, Toth, Urthemiel, Zazikel, grand creatures of old, masters of the world, and heralds of change, we bid you. Open the way to us: show us the entrance, the pathfinder, the truth. Make our minds wise, make our bodies strong, make our blood powerful. By your will, may we ascend to heaven! Dumat, Androal..."

The chanters were calling on the Old Gods of Tevinter. They were indeed the disciples of Darinius, the First Archon.

Now closer the mage could tell: they were four mages. Three men and one woman. They all knelt on the floor and had their arms stretched towards the flames. Their wrists were cut, and the blood was dripping down to the stone floor.

They were calling for the wisdom of the gods. The power to see how the First Archon got the knowledge he desired.

_"This is officially a death sentence, but I guess it can't be avoided."_ – Stefan thought, as he braced himself, for what was about to be the worst battle of his life – one young dreamer, against four seasoned blood mages. How did the idiots of the Chantry think he could stand against the Disciples alone, when a whole contingent of Templar warriors could not?!

_"Definitely not the worst, nor the last battle of your life, my boy. And no – you're not alone. Not here, anyway. And besides, you're stronger than you think!"_

The voice sounded through the head of the boy. It sent shivers down his back, and made the hair on his body stand up. His eyes widened, as he fell back to the floor. Thankfully, he didn't cause any noise.

That voice – the voice of the only person Stefan had ever admired and aspired to be. The voice of the only person who ever saw anything more than a weapon in the boy. The voice of a person who the mage loved much, and missed twice as much.

The voice of his grandfather, who had passed away a long time ago, when Stefan was not yet in the Circle, before he was taken away.

Stefan looked around, but saw no one.

_"You can't see me, child. But I'm here, I've always been close. You only need to open your senses and embrace the spirit world." _– Keeper Irion said. – "Now, get up and prepare yourself. I will lend as much help as I can, but beware. These mages play by a different set of rules."

Stefan smiled. He had no idea how he could hear his dead grandfather. Was it because his spirit was in the beyond, or was it because of the ancient chamber? He didn't know.

The man inhaled and clenched his fists. He was ready. He had to be, because it was now or never.


	7. Chapter 7 - The Dark Disciples (Part 2)

Stefan took a deep breath. His eyes were locked on the four kneeling figures around the flames. Their faces covered in darkness, their robes stained with blood. The chanting was getting louder and louder. The names of the Seven Old Gods echoed through the burial mages were lost in their own spell, and could not sense the presence of the intruding man. Stefan stood in the shadow and called to his grandfather:

_"How can I beat them?"_

The voice of Keeper Irion was loud in the head of the young mage:

_"There is both power and knowledge here. See that sword over there?" _

A slight flicker of light passed over the long edge of a two handed sword, revealing the sharpness of the ancient blade. Its hilt was made from Sylvanwood – rare as diamonds, while the edge was Orichalcum – a magic metal, fit for enchantment. The sword itself was a masterpiece!

_"A sword? Is that what you're asking me to use? But I'm a mage! I have no use for it!"_ – Stefan protested in his mind, showing an obvious desperation

"_This sword has a name: Magebane. It was forged in the days of Arlathan, when Sylvanwood forests could still be found. It served as a final protection."_ – responded Irion

_"Protection? From what? Aren't the elders dead?"_ – asked the mage. – _"And why Magebane? Wouldn't that mean it's meant for fighting mages?"_

_"No child, brace yourself, we haven't much time!"_

The dead Keeper was right – the chanting black hooded figures were near the end of their spell. The very air trembled with excitement as the blood mages were calling to the gods of old.

_"The elders came here to sleep, not die. Their minds braved the Fade, in search for answers. The wards in these halls protected their bodies from deteriorating and form being possessed. But they were never meant to be eternal – the elves knew that one day the old magic will fade away. So the master smiths used the oldest sylvanwood and the deepest orichalcum to forge Magebane – the life and death of the mages. It was forged to be carried in battle by an Arcane Warrior – a mage of both strength, power and wisdom. Those who were buried here were to defend themselves with it for it could purge demonic possession without destroying the body. It has a connection to the Fade of his own."_

While his grandfather was relaying the story, the young man had gone towards the altar, on which the ancient blade was mounted. Stefan stood in front of it and reached to grasp it. Just as the story finished, the boy lifted the sword with both hands. It was surprisingly light – lighter than any staff he had used in the Circle.

Along the blade, all the way to the sharp tip, lay an inscription – long tracings of elvish runes. As Stefan passed his hand over them, following the shapes with his fingers, the runes started to glow, faintly. Coldness started to radiate from the blade.

"What... What does it say?" – mumbled Stefan, quietly.

_"I cannot say, child. The language of the People changed over the course of many centuries. It's truly lost now."_

Stefan swung the blade a couple of times around himself. The blade cut the air, leaving a faint aura after it. The sound it made was beautiful – it was like music, playing in a cavern full of crystals.

The man was not a warrior, he didn't have the training or the knowledge to wield something like this. But it felt right, to hold that two handed sword. It felt as though the Fade was opening its' arms towards the boy.

_"They've noticed you. Be strong – you have much more to accomplish. Go, and remember – I'm always with you"_

Stefan turned and faced the mages. They were silent now, staring straight at the man.

Two gray bearded men, one young man with golden hair and an old white haired woman. All of them were cut, but none of them were tired.

"Well, well, well... If it isn't the boy of Irion, the prime weapon of Fereldens' Cricle. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, and an honor to actually talk to you." – the eldest of the four people said, bowing slightly.

"You know me? Never mind" – Stefan quickly added, cutting the obviously ready answer from the eldest man – "I don't need any more riddles."

Stefan felt the blade sing its own song – a calling of great power. It felt natural, as though his hands were guided. He held the sword in his right hand and stretched it out – flames burst from the blade, enveloping it whole and forming a big ball of fire at the tip. It shot forward.

Two of the mages – the second gray bearded man and the gold-haired man formed a protective shield. It cracked, just as the smirks on their faces. The two were sent backwards, landing near the big brazier, that held the bonfire.

"Such power. That blade! How did you take it?" - squealed the concerned old woman, as the men behind her stood up after they put out the flames, spreading through their robes.

"None of your business, witch!" – Stefan shouted, not giving them time, as another fireball left the tip of the blade.

If was absorbed by the hand of the eldest mage. He shook his head in a disapproving manner and faced his companions. He cocked and eyebrow and said:

"Now, now, Aphora, where are your manners! This is a dreamer, that's why he can wield the ancient sword. He carries the blood of the People."

"Then we should chain him and sell him to the Tevinters!" – said the youngest Disciple with spite in his voice.

"No, we shall have none of that." – continued the old blood mage, now turning towards Stefan – "I am lord Marcell De Lioux, former senior enchanter of the Val Royeaux Mage Circle. I understand that you are to thank for... saving us from the loud mouth sister of Bertrand?" – he added and pointed with his bloody fingers towards the young gold haired Disciple.

"She deserved what she got, she hurt my friend. Maker, show you mercy, for I cannot!" – and with that Stefan sunk the blade half-way in the ground. Electricity spread across the floor and hit the four people.

Marcell used his magic to stop the assault, but he failed, or did not care to protect the eldest woman. She hissed as she swayed left, her legs shaking, as she leaned against the nearest coffin.

Stefan forced the blade forward, effortlessly braking the ancient strong stone, as if it was butter, and sent a shock wave forward, it crashed in the new shield of the enemy, but didn't do much.

Then the dreamer plucked the sword from the stone and swung it in an arc, sending strong and cold winds forward, pushing the two burnt mages and the old woman back. Marcell stood there, still smiling.

"We want to avoid combat with you. You posses quite the power and it would be a waste to... discard it. I propose-"

"Shut up!" – Stefan cried as he charged forward.

Now putting electricity through the blade, he swung it across the distance, aiming to sink it in the chest of the blood mage. The ex enchanter just stood there, but there was no longer a smile on his face. There was disappointment. He raised his hand and the boy froze.

"Ancient elvish magic is fascinating, and at the very least, potent in some occasions. But we use the power of blood. My offer is this: join us, and we shall give you anything."

There was a flash of fire in the eyes of Marcell. His face up close was strange, as though tormented by something.

"With blood behind this raw potential of yours, you could have it all! The title Archon does suit you just fine, I think. Or would you prefer Emperor of Orlais? King of Ferelden? First Warden?"

"Those markings! You were part of the Mortalitasi order from Nevarra!" – shouted Stefan, while still attempting to get rid of his magical constraints.

"Yes, I studied with them, but Orlais has always been my home... And my brother is the highly misunderstood killer of Kirwall – the one who killed the Champions' mother. But enough about me."

He raised his hand and gently placed it on the shoulder of the constrained dreamer. His blood started forming stains, leaving marks on the clothes of the young man.

_"Stefan, use the blade!"_ – echoed the voice of Irion.

Just as Marcell was about to say something, the elf-blooded human fuelled the weapon in his hand with magic. It glowed bright, severing the magic constrain.

The other three Disciples caught the now stumbling Marcell. He pushed them away and locked his eyes with those of the now free mage.

"You brat! I'll boil your bones and melt your skin, inch, by bloody inch!" – the old man screeched, his voice echoed through the hall. The once calm mage was gone – there stood a crazed old bitter man, with the desire for blood.

"Bertrand, Aphora – raise the dead. Rothrund, with me!" – Marcell barked orders at the other Disciples.

"Now you pay for my sister, bastard!" – cried Bertrand as he slit his wrist and joined the old lady in raising a small army.

The other two slit their wrists and assaulted the mind of the young man.

Stefan took a deep breath, switched the blade to his left hand, and placed his right hand on his forehead. A wave of energy spread, as the warrior mage released a blocking spell. The two blood mages were now receding back and drew circles of protection. Rothrund took the defense and held both force shields, as Marcell started shooting ice bolts at the young dreamer.

As though someone took hold of the mages' hand, he raised the weapon and swung it, so that each bolt crashed on the edge, shattering into a thousand pieces. Many shards flew, but few hit the man. Those that did, left big bruises.

A loud cracking noise sounded as the screams of Aphora resonated all around. All eyes looked her way – she was lying on the ground, twitching. Her minions crumbled. Bertrand knelt next to her and said:

"Aphora, what's wrong?"

He reached to touch her, but he was stopped by Rothrund:

"Back away, boy! She's lost – a demon is possessing her!"

"Kill her, before she rises to be a threat!" – barked Marcell

Stefan charged towards the shields and send fireball after fireball, while the two blood mages were not paying attention. Soon the balls crashed, shattering the defenses.

"But... But she was like a mother to me! I, I can't-"

Bertrand screamed as he was pierced by a shade, now at the command of the possessed Disciple.

"Damn it! Rothtund, deal with Aphora, leave this elf-blooded scum to me!"

Two battles evolved from one: Stefan, constantly swinging his new weapon, sending fireballs at Marcell, who now was hurling stone coffins back at his attacker. And Rothrund, calling on the blood of the now dead Bertrand, to try and split in half the abomination Aphora, who was summoning waves of shades.

As the fighting went on, things seemed more dire than ever. Stefan was using all of his power and knowledge to hit Marcell, but he just couldn't reach him. The Disciple had experience far beyond the common mage and was using it to heal himself, while attacking his enemy.

Aphora charged forward, dashing towards the two other fighters, as Rothrund was surrounded by dozens of shades. She slashed her claws at Marcell, and shot bolts of liquid fire at Stefan.

"Die, lesser demon!" – cried the blood mage, as he charged a strong bolt of dark purple lightning. He shot it towards the demon possessed woman. It hit, and left an ugly gash on the head of the abomination. Blood poured out. He used this to his advantage and sent Stefan flying away.

The young man crashed against the wall, falling down badly on his left arm. That left the blade under him. He tried getting up, but failed.

"I said die, worm!" – squealed the ex enchanter as he burned the left side of the monster.

The fight went on for a while, and Stefan was left out of it. He regained his consciousness, but could not get up. His left arm hurt bad.

Rothrund had killed dozens of shades, but a few more were surrounding him. Stefan gazed in the direction of the dead Bertrand and found him dried up. All his blood was gone to fuel the power of the second Disciple.

Aphora finally charged forward and slashed a piece of meat from one of the legs of Marcell. He shouted and stuck his hand in the abomination. It exploded, coating everything around with blood and remains.

He laughed, quite cruelly and saw that the shades receded, freeing his companion. He said:

"Let's take care of the boy then"

As he neared the him, limping, Stefan conjured a shield around himself. The two gray bearded men laughed.

Marcell leaned forward and bend one knee to be face to face with the dreamer:

"We can wait, my dear. As long as it takes for you to break that shield and beg for mercy " – his voice raised and he started shouting – "as I tear you to pieces, slowly, very slowly!"

Rothrund laughed, but then he let out a moan of pain. Blood spilled the back of Marcell. He looked back at his companion and saw three arrows sticking through the neck of his fellow Disciple.

_"Now Stefan!"_ – cried his grandfather, bringing the laying boy back to reality.

The shield dispersed, the sword flew up, and soon it nestled in between the lungs of the eldest mage. Marcells' face lit up in joy as he exhaled and fell down, crashing in the dust, right next to his fellow mage.

In the distance, Stefan saw a group of people, and recognized Lanaya. Then a quick breath and he lost consciousness...

...

Stefan found himself sitting on a small barrel of wine, next to an elven land ship – an aravel. He saw his reflection in the opened barrel full of water, next to him, and saw himself as a child. He immediately looked up and saw his grandfather smiling down from the land-ship. A halla was laying bellow his feet on the grass.

"Wait, this... this isn't real, is it?" – immediately asked Stefan, his voice ringing with the youth of a child.

"Yes, this is but a dream. And we don't have time..." – his grandfather said, calmly sipping from his engraved silver cup.

"Do we ever have enough time?" – said the boy with a deep sigh.

"Time is all we have, and it's not wise to lay it in someone else's hands or to discard it. One must learn to live his life and spend his time in joy and celebration. Unfortunately many have forgotten that."

"So..." – Stefan started after a brief silence – "Now that I've reached the point of questions: What the Hell is going on grandpa?" – the mixture of harsh words and the innocence of the child tone made Irion laugh.

"Now, my boy, you need to go to Tevinter – to the empty resting place of Dumat, Old God of Silence. There you'll find an ancient text, depicting a ritual that you must complete. It is to be done on sacred Dalish grounds. More I cannot reveal."

The keeper coughed and looked the boy in the eyes. They both smiled and then the dream started to break down.

"Wait, I have so many more questions!" – cried the boy

"Don't worry, you'll find the answers." – said the elf, quietly.

...

Stefan awoke, feeling the gentle touch of Lanaya.

"He's awake." – the female Keeper said, her voice ringing in the aravel – "Bring me water and food."

The mages' hand was healed. Soon he regained his strength.

From Lanay he learned that the ruin started collapsing from the infestation of Shades. She formed a party to venture inside and save all the relics, and see if anyone was alive. Stefan was asleep for three days, but now he had awoken.

Suddenly Stefan froze. He stood up and climbed out of the aravel. He looked around, with a concerned look on his face.

Lanaya followed, hissing and ordering him to lay back down.

"Salion!"- Stefan cried out – "Where is he? I need to..."

Stefan read the expression on the females' face. She looked up at the topless bandaged man and shook her head, as tears formed in her eyes. She wiped them away and said:

"We... We found his body near the entrance to the burial chamber. He... He apparently was seeking you out."

"He lost a lot of blood." – Stefans said, his face now expressionless – "I promised him that I would save him."

"I know you gave it your best. You possess quite the healing skills but those were not enough. He died bravely, and we will remember him as he was – a fearless captain, and a brave adventurer."

Many elves gathered. Some cried, some comforted the Keeper. Stefan, however was emotionless. He failed him – despite his heroic act, he failed him and he died. He wasn't sure how to react.

"Come now and rest. You were mumbling during your sleep. I know you have a long journey ahead of you."

A week passed and during that time Stefan was back to his full health, Lanayas' magic healed him completely. He trained a bit with the sword, which was now a gift from the Dalish to their half-blood brother.

The Keeper even issued that a small tattoo was to be made on his shoulder – a reward for dealing with the mage intruders, and a sign that he would always be welcome amidst the People!

Soon Stefan had knowledge of basic swordsmanship, not nearly as good as the other Dalish warriors. He had Magebane – the greatsword of ancient Arlathan, and the respect of the Bercilians' inhabitants.

He was to travel north to Amaranthine and take a ship to Cumberland – from there north to the Tevinter Imperium.

But not everything was rainbows and sunshine. He had tasted blood magic and its power. If he ever was in a desperate situation, he might use it again. And that he feared the most – to end up like Aphora, an abomination.

"Maker, protect me and my loved ones." – and with that thought he exited the camp of the Dalish, his sword locked in place by a leather harness to his back – his bag full of food and supplies, and his mind – deeply troubled.


End file.
